


Believe me, love, it was the nightingale

by thunder_kitkat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Alternate Universe, Angst and Romance, Art, Astoria Greengrass Dies, Character Study, Classical Music, Decadence, Desire, Draco Malfoy-centric, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, First Dates, Grief/Mourning, Healer Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger-centric, Love, Love/Hate, Lust, Morning Sex, Muggle-born, Oral Sex, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Purebloods (Harry Potter), Resolved Sexual Tension, Romantic Angst, Ron Weasley Dies, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, St Mungo's Hospital, St. Mungo's Healers (Harry Potter), True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29444091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunder_kitkat/pseuds/thunder_kitkat
Summary: Draco Malfoy lost his beloved wife, Astoria Greengrass, in 2001, and was alone for nearly two years. Will the unexpected meeting in the graveyard change his life?Inspired byKumatan0720Headcanon, AU.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Theodore Nott
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kumatan0720](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kumatan0720/gifts).



_For this is the golden morning of love,_

_And you are his morning star._

~ Alfred Tennyson, "Marriage Morning"

Draco Malfoy was standing in front of a white marble tombstone this fine, September morning, just as he did almost every day since the day his wife passed away. The sun rays glittered in the colourful leaves of autumn trees, it was a beautiful, warm day, but he wasn't able to appreciate it. Since Astoria's death, Draco barely managed to force himself to fulfil his everyday duties. He woke up, showered, dressed, ate breakfast, went to the hospital, came back home, then he attended social events where he smiled and exchanged meaningless remarks, wearing a mask of a man who reconciled with his past. It was all a lie - after two years, he still felt a painful void; he missed Astoria terribly. He missed her smile, her voice; her scent - he still remembered her touch, gentle and delicate. There were still some nights during which he cried into his pillow out of despair and helplessness. Astoria was everything to him; he couldn't even imagine that it was possible to love someone that much. Although after two years Draco officially ceased to be in mourning, he still wore black and didn't want to hear about a second marriage, much to his parents' discontent. He worked in the hospital twelve hours a day simply to forget about his pain, came home exhausted and fell asleep immediately, only to face the suffering in the morning, again and again, each day since her death. With time, he got used to this feeling; tearing him apart from the inside, taking each joy away from him. Draco stopped playing the piano; he stopped doing the horse riding - he just wasn't able to do it. While looking at Astoria's tombstone photograph, he felt his voice stuck in his throat. 

_"I am so sorry, darling,"_ he thought as he placed a bouquet of white chrysanthemums at her grave. _"Please forgive me."_

He stood there for a moment, trying to hold back tears, and after some time, he just turned and left his wife's tombstone behind him. Draco tried to think about work he had to do, about multiple procedures he had to perform, about teaching students - to no avail. He was distracted, all he could think of was Astoria - her hazel eyes, her little laugh when she cuddled to his side, the way she tossed her hair back - he couldn't focus on anything else. He stopped for a moment, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

" _Easy_ ," he thought, " _Just calm down_..."

When he was just about to open his eyes, he felt someone ran into him. Draco lost his balance for a second and looked around disoriented; a young woman was crutching near him, picking up papers that threw out from her leather satchel. He bent down to help her when he heard her oddly familiar voice - a voice he hasn't heard in years, yet he recognized it in a split second. 

"I am so sorry, I should pay more attention to my surroundings," Hermione Granger said and took the papers he handed her, still not looking at him, "Are you all right?" 

"Yes, I am." Draco cleared his throat, "And you?"

She looked at him in amazement; they haven't seen each other in years. He helped her get up and Hermione carefully glanced at him. He looked older, more mature than she remembered; she noticed first wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. As always he was perfectly dressed, she however never seen him in all black. His clothing was adult now; he was no longer a schoolboy she remembered. Against her will, Hermione thought how handsome he was, how well his outfit underlined his complexion and athletic silhouette. She recalled how much she hated him at school, how mean he was to her for all these years. Hermione thought about the battle at the Astronomy Tower and Skirmish at Malfoy Manor - she wanted to say something that would hurt him deeply and then she looked into his cold, steel-grey eyes. They were empty, full of pain and suffering, and suddenly she felt she couldn't do it. 

"Long time no see, Malfoy," Hermione cleared her throat, "What are you doing here?"

"I was at my wife's grave," he said coldly, his voice was lower and deeper than she remembered.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she replied, avoiding his eyesight. 

"And you, Granger?" 

"My fiancé lies here." Hermione said, "I was just...," 

She cut as she suddenly recalled the moment when she had to identify Ron's body. Until the last second Hermione desperately believed that it was a mistake; that Ron was alive and this situation was just someone's sick joke. It was almost two years ago, and she still couldn't reconcile with Ron's death. She recalled the morgue and the bland, overwhelming odour - the odour of death. Ron was hit by a ricochet; when he finally obtained medical aid it was already too late - he lost too much blood. She hated herself for this, but she often thought she would prefer Hary to be on Ron's place - she couldn't stand his happiness with Ginny - she barely visited them. When the coroner uncovered Ron's chalk-white face stained with blood Hermione was unable to think and feel - she just heard this loud, high pitched sound deep in her brain and would have fallen on the floor if it wasn't for Bill who reacted quickly enough to hold her. 

Hermione faltered, her leather satchel and black jacket fell from her hand. 

"Granger, what's wrong? Hey Granger, don't faint me here!" 

Draco held her; he sat on a low bench and placed Hermione on his lap. Her head fell on his chest, when, with his left hand, he opened his bag and took out a small bottle made of dark glass. 

"Here, this will help you..." 

"What's this?" She whispered, "Are you trying to kill me?"

"I'm a healer," he said calmly, "Now, breathe in."

Hermione obeyed; Draco found this situation oddly pleasant: he hated her, he didn't care for her, he never thought about her, it was because of her and her stupid friends his father spent almost a year in Azkaban. Molly Weasley killed his aunt; and yet he felt peace and calm. Draco barely remembered the feeling, since Astoria's death he felt only cold rage and pain. While looking at Hermione with her head on his chest, he realised that her hair had the same tone as his wife's hair had.

 _"How odd,"_ he thought, " _This is so weird._ "

"Feeling better?" He asked with concern, with all his will he fought the urge to stroke her cheek, "Are you all right"? 

Their eyes met; they looked at each other in silence for a long moment and didn't know what to say. Suddenly it felt so right, so familiar - for a second they stopped thinking about the world that surrounded them, they stopped thinking about the past and everything that had happened. They just looked at each other and saw things they never thought they would see. Draco noticed Hermione had tiny yellow spots on her irises, and her freckles perfectly matched her blushed cheeks. Her lips were full and beautifully carved - only her eyes were full of profound sadness. He suddenly thought he would do anything just to make her smile again. Hermione stared at him astonished; she noticed a small mole just under his jawline and realized that he had dimples in his cheeks. The warmth of his body and his scent - spicy, fresh scent of pepper and mint made her head spin. She got up quickly and smoothed her black costume; she was confused and embarrassed; she felt so odd - she even didn't know how to call the feeling. 

"Yes, thank you...," She muttered, "What time is it?"

Draco looked at his platinum watch. 

"It's eleven-thirty."

"AW FUCK," she exclaimed, "I'm late; I have a trial in ten minutes!"

He looked at her in amazement, Granger swearing, that was something new. 

"Listen Malfoy, thank you, but I have to go now," she said and grabbed her satchel. "Fuck, I'm out of time! 

"Hey, Granger, your jacket!"

He was talking to the empty space - she was already gone.

*

Draco entered Saint Mungo's at noon; he was already late; he knew the trainees waited for him; he was the most anticipated person in this hospital. The board had already proposed to him the managing director's position, but he declined three times. He didn't want to rot in papers; he hated this - he wanted to heal, that was his calling. Being independently wealthy he didn't need to earn a living; moreover, healer's work was hard and exhausting - Draco desperately needed that to be able to sleep without the medication, which he tried to avoid at all costs. While waiting for the elevator, he tried not to think about the meeting with Hermione Granger at the cemetery; he still had her jacket and didn't know what to do about it. All the time, he felt the subtle scent of vanilla and cardamon, and this was oddly pleasant to him. He couldn't stop thinking about her freckles and large, brown eyes. Her velvety, low voice was so soothing - Draco realized that he would gladly talk to her again - just for the sake of listening to her voice. He felt weird, oddly calm, relaxed - the steel hoop squeezing his ribs since Astoria's death loosened a bit, and that was a tremendous relief for him. He thought again about her full, beautifully carved lips and highly pinned-up hair exposing the long neck and he smiled, only to reprimand himself in his thoughts after a second. 

" _Calm down, you moron,"_ Draco thought as he opened the door to his ward, " _You will give her back her jacket and you won't meet again you fucking idiot, you hate her."_

He noticed the group of trainees waiting under his office; Draco heard the buzz of excitement while he approached. It wasn't a secret that both female and male students had a crush on him. Indeed, Draco Malfoy was very handsome - he greatly resembled his father, he had the same porcelain complexion and cold, steel-grey eyes. He was well-built, his pointy face had noble, manly features. Draco always was clean shaved, well dressed; he was polite and calm - however, there was something in him that allowed him to keep discipline without raising his voice. 

"Good morning, ladies and gentleman, I'm sorry for being late," he said while entering his office, "We will start in 10 minutes, I just have to change..., Ah, good morning Cara, sorry, Clara." He was distracted; the nurse looked at him surprised, "Is healer-in-charge Lovegood at work today?" 

"Yes, yes she is," Clara replied, "Coffee?"

"Excellent," Draco took off his jacket, "Yes, please, in 30 minutes, all right?"

"Of course," Clara smiled at him and left his office. 

Draco changed into his lime green work uniform and left the office with a pile of patient cards under his arm. The group of excited trainees followed him for the usual round on his ward. Draco examined patients, he commented on their medical condition, asked and responded to questions. He loved the daily routine at the hospital, he didn't have to think about anything else than his work, and it was something that probably saved his life two years ago. Draco barely remembered what was happening during the first weeks after Astoria's death. He wasn't able to organise the funeral; Daphne took care of this because he was working himself to death. He spent all his time in the hospital. He was frantically writing papers, conducted research, fulfilling his usual duties; he slept in his office and ate in the cafeteria on the fifth floor. Draco found relief in this; he was too exhausted to feel pain, just because of the work he never thought of suicide. He didn't listen to his parents, who tried to explain to him that this was not a healthy way out. He ignored his friends; he didn't even want to meet them. It was after the funeral when he realized that his parents were right. He couldn't cope with pain and suffering. He was alone in his big house in London, full of ghostly reminiscence of his happy life. Draco started to abuse alcohol, and yet it was still his work that kept him alive. When he woke up, hangover, only the thought of his duties in the hospital motivated him to get up. It worked for some time, Until finally, six months ago, Draco collapsed while visiting his parents, and it was a wake-up call for him. He stayed for several weeks in Wiltshire; talked to his father for long hours, and he realized that his parents wouldn't survive his death. Well, his father _maybe_ , he survived Azkaban after all, but his mother definitely wouldn't, and Draco knew that Lucius wouldn't be able to live without Narcissa. He suffered tremendously, but in time he learned how to live with the pain. Draco came back to London, took his parents' social engagements, started to organize balls and parties and eventually managed to restore Malfoy's family name. He still worked in hospital 12 hours a day, but he quit drinking and managed to stabilize his life a bit. Nott and Zabini visited him sometimes, Draco often went to his parents in Wiltshire. He still suffered immensely; he, however, got used to it. His life was _acceptable_ , and Draco intended to keep it that way. 

"That would be all for today, thank you," he said while writing something on a patient's card, "Any questions? Very well then, have a good day." 

For a brief moment, he looked at trainees leaving the patients' room. He smiled at Mrs Fitzwilly, who was about to leave today and checked the hour. It was already two-thirty pm, and Draco sighed heavily. He knew that he could send back this jacket to the ministry, for sure Granger would've got it, however for some reason he didn't want to do it. 

_"She almost fainted,_ " he thought while heading to the elevator, " _I have to check if everything is fine...,"_

Draco never bothered himself with people who already have been healed. He was glad that they left the hospital, that they were healthy, but he never thought of them again. He didn't have time for that, as he was constantly preoccupied with other, more serious things. 

_"Yes, I will just check on her; that's it." He reassured himself, "It's my duty as a healer."_

Draco wasn't able to admit that he wanted to see Hermione again. Something melted in him there, in the cemetery earlier today. He didn't know what that was, neither what was happening to him, but it made him feel better, and he hadn't felt that well in years, yet there was still this twitch of guilt that pierced his heart. Draco took a deep breath and left the elevator on the first floor, where Luna Lovegood was temporarily a healer-in-charge. She came back from abroad recently and decided to offer her knowledge about venomous animals from around the globe to St. Mungo's hospital; Dai Llewelyn Ward already had major successes on the field of antitoxins. 

"Excuse me," he said to the nurse passing him by, "Where can I find a healer-in-charge Lovegood?"

"She is in her office," the nurse replied, "By the end of the corridor on the left."

"Thank you."

As he approached Luna's office, he promised himself he would handle this quickly. Although they cooperated fruitfully on the professional ground, Draco was sceptical about her methods and he had difficulties in talking to her privately. She was the only one, however, who could help him now, and he had no choice but to talk to her about it. Draco knocked on the door and entered Luna's office where she was sitting cross-legged on a bright, fluffy carpet. She was mumbling something to herself - as she always has - Draco didn't know how she did that, but her achievements in healing potions were outstanding. 

_"Maybe I should think about co-authoring a paper with her,"_ he thought, and in the same moment, Luna smiled brightly. " _Ah fuck, here it starts."_

"Ah hello, Draco," Luna said and looked at him in this weird way that always made him uncomfortable, "I absolutely adore your beautiful, lime green robes, they make your eyes even more dreamy than normally...," 

"Luna, these are our usual working clothes," he said and sighed, wondering how on Earth she came up with the concept of his eyes being dreamy, "Listen, I need .."

"Did you know that when one ad mimbulus _mimbletonia's_ roots to the antidote for common poisons, one gets the antitoxin for nundu's venom?" Luna interrupted him and got up, "Look, I made this yesterday."

"Please, Luna... What?" Draco asked, "Have you tested it?"

"Not on humans," she smiled dreamily, "But I brought a lot of nundu's venom from Africa, I applied it to mice, each survived..."

"Jesus, Luna, why aren't you informing me about these things?!" Draco suddenly got excited, "We talked about this, I already developed a formula for streeler poisonous slime...,"

"We should co-author a paper then," she smiled brightly at him, "I always knew you were very talented."

"Erm, yeah, this is, indeed, an excellent idea," he muttered, "Listen, I need…,"

"Do you want a cookie?"

"What? No, Luna, please...,"

"It's good that you became a healer, not an auror," she said, "There are new facts about the Rotfang Conspiracy..."

"Luna, I need you to give me Granger's address," Draco blurted. It cost him more than he suspected, "Can you please give it to me?"

Luna looked at him with her large, pale blue eyes. He felt like she was scanning him carefully, but after a moment, she smiled widely and took a piece of parchment from the drawer. 

"Of course, Draco," she said and started to write, "Here you go. What do you need it for? 

Her voice sharpened suddenly, Draco shivered against his will.

"I have her jacket," he said; perfectly in control of his voice, "I want to give it back to her."

"All right," Luna smiled brightly again and handed him a piece of paper, "I will send you my notes about the antitoxin... We _really_ should co-author this paper."

"We will," Draco said and realized he was smiling, "Thank you, Luna. See you."

He left the hospital at seven pm; he was tired and nervous. Hermione was living in close proximity to St. Mungo's, and Draco slowly started to walk in this direction. He didn't know what to say to her; it was late, they hated each other; Draco loosened a tie under his neck and smoothened his black, silk vest. 

_"I was wondering how..., No. Are you feeling all right now? Nah, this sounds stupid."_ He thought as he approached her building, _"I was passing by and..., No, are you retarded? You aren't supposed to know her address you fucking moron..., I wanted to give you back your jacket, and Luna gave me your address. There you go, that was easy_."

Draco stood in front of a carved, wooden door for a while and then entered the building, Hermione lived on the third floor. He liked the interior. Although it wasn't something he was used to, it lacked the luxury and finesse, it was elegant enough. Black and white marble floor, iron-wrought balustrade, shiny, wooden doors, high windows - a good, solid building. The one where lawyers and doctors lived. 

" _Thirty-four, thirty-five... Thirty-six. That's it."_

Draco stood in front of the door to Hermione's apartment and felt a growing nervousness. He adjusted his tie, smoothened his vest and knocked briefly on the door. 

"Just a second!" he heard her voice, and with all his will he fought the urge to escape. He was standing there, his left hand in his pocket, and waited. After a brief moment, he heard the key moving in the lock, and she opened the door. 

"How can... What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, surprised, "How did you get my address?"

Draco was looking at her astonished, she looked completely different now than she did in the morning. She was wearing a tightly fitted white t-shirt and slim fit navy blue jeans. Her hair was loosely pinned at the nape of her neck, and in the right hand, she held a glass of red wine. Draco never paid attention to her figure, which was now fully exposed to him, and realized that he loved what he was seeing. He couldn't help himself to look at her breasts and hips, perfectly round, brought out by her clothing. Since Astoria's death he hasn't looked at another woman, he didn't even think of them, and now here he was, confused like a schoolboy before his first date. It felt almost surreal. 

"I have your jacket, Granger," Draco cleared his throat, "You left it in the cemetery. Luna gave me your address, we work together." 

"Oh," she took it from him, "Thank you. I erm, I thought I lost it." 

"You disapparated before I noticed that you have forgotten it. How are you feeling, Granger?" 

"Quite alright," Hermione said and looked in his eyes, she didn't know why but she felt good when he was close to her. "I wanted to thank you for what you did in the morning…"

"Oh it's nothing," he cut in swiftly, "I'm a healer, I've already told you." 

"Would you like to come in?" Hermione snapped, it happened so fast; she didn't even think it through.

"Gladly," Draco replied instantly, "Thank you." 

Hermione let him in and observed stealthily how he took off his black jacket and loosened a tie under his neck. She never noticed how elegant and graceful his movements were; she realized that she liked his presence in her kitchen.

 _"It's called politeness"_ she thought, _You're just being polite"_

She put a cup of coffee in front of him, and they sat there in silence, avoiding each other's eyesight. Neither of them didn't know what to say, their whole lives they were deadly enemies, they fought each other, hurt each other - they were from completely different worlds and yet here they were - sitting in Hermione's kitchen, denying the fact that something changed this fine morning, when they ran into each other in the graveyard.

"You're left handed," she said out of a sudden, "I never noticed."

"Just like my father," he replied, "How did you know?" 

"Well, you instinctively took a spoon with your left hand," Hermione said, "Most people would do it with their right hand." 

"Indeed you're clever, Granger," Draco cleared his throat, Hermione slightly blushed, "What do you do now? I heard you were a lawyer…"

"Yes, I am a prosecutor, two years now." She sipped her wine, "It's not easy but I like it. I basically don't leave the office, it's easier to forget then."

"Be careful, Granger," Draco said sharply, "I also was working myself to death, binge drinking until I collapsed. It's easy to lose control." 

Hermione looked at him closely, she didn't know what to say. Suddenly she realized that he understood better than anyone what she went through. Draco lost his wife, a person he loved the most, he knew how it was to come to the empty house full of memories. How hard it was to get up from bed every morning, not seeing any reason to do it. He understood her better than Harry or Ginny who were happily married; Ginny was pregnant again. Hermione was sick when she looked at them, she envied them. Although she obviously missed her friends she wasn't able to visit them. For the first time in her life Hermione realized that Draco Malfoy had feelings, that he was capable of love and devotion, that he wasn't a mindless monster. Suddenly, she was struck by a fact that someone who she hated almost her entire life understood her better than her friends and this thought confused her. Hermione didn't want to admit it, but she couldn't take her eyes off him. 

"I'm so sorry to hear that," she said and finally looked into his steel-grey eyes. "Are you feeling better now?" 

"Yes, I'm fine, I quit drinking… Well, not entirely, I have a whisky from time to time." Draco smiled at her, and Hermione felt her knees buckling, "It was a lovely evening, Granger, but I have to go now, it's late." 

"Of course, thank you once again for the jacket," she got up and watched as Draco dressed up. "Goodbye then."

They stood in the hallway and looked at each other, not knowing what to do.

"Goodbye, Granger," Draco shook her hand; her skin was warm and silky-smooth. Her touch was so pleasant, he didn't want release her palm. "See you someday." 

She looked at him as if she was waiting for something for a second, then opened the door and he left. 

" _There, you won't have to meet her ever again_ ," he thought while descending the stairs, " _She is arrogant, irritating, muggleborn know-it-all. You hate her, she isn't even that pretty_." 

Draco suddenly stopped and after a second he turned back. 

_"Ah fuck it_ ," He thought when he stood in front of Hermione's appartment and knocked on her door again. " _You only live once_."

She opened the door in a split second; they looked at each other, astonished, and after a brief moment Draco wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against him. Hermione threw her arms on his neck; she felt the warmth of his body through the clothing. She hasn't been with any man since Ron's death and suddenly she felt a desire rising in her; she wanted Draco, she wanted to feel his touch, to listen to his voice, to feel his fresh, spicy scent of pepper and mint that made her head spin. 

"What are you doing?" She whispered, looking into his steel-grey eyes. 

"I'm kissing you," he replied, and kissed her.

It was a soft, gentle kiss, a promise of something wonderful, a promise of blissful happiness that would last until their last days. Draco glided his hands up and down her spine, he was kissing her passionately, he was losing himself in pleasure which taste he had almost forgotten. When they finally broke the contact of their lips, none of them spoke for a longer moment, they were still astonished by what just happened. 

"I have two tickets for the Beethoven concert for tomorrow," Draco said and smiled, "You know _obviously_ that he was a wizard, don't you?" 

"Yes, I know, a lot of musicians were." 

"Will you go with me?"

"With pleasure, Malfoy." 

"Excellent." Draco kissed her cheek, "I'll pick you up at eight then, Granger." 

While descending the stairs, Draco realized that for the first time in two years he felt good. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art can be indeed very exciting

The next day Draco woke up late; around eleven-thirty am which surprised him, as he usually couldn't sleep. For a long moment he lay on the soft, silk pillows with his eyes shut and thought about what happened yesterday. 

After Astoria's death Draco had never imagined he would be able to even look at another woman. He always thought he would be alone for the rest of his life, unhappy and plunged into despair. In the streets he couldn't look at happy couples, he couldn't look at young parents taking care of their children. Draco couldn't stand the sight of men embracing their partners during the balls and parties he attended and organized. He turned his eyes away not to see women lovingly adjusting bows and ties for their husbands and fiancés. He even had difficulties with looking at his parents - their love and devotion for each other were almost palpable and Draco was just pain-sick; he knew he would never experience something like that. He missed these small gestures terribly; it was not long ago he attended all these events with Astoria. She was adjusting his collar, she was at his arm and it was all that mattered. He still heard her laughter, while falling asleep he still saw his wife in her most beautiful gowns. Draco dreamt of making love to her; he woke up in the middle of the night unpleasantly tensed, hard, breathing heavily - every inch of his body cried for Astoria's touch. The awareness that they would never be together again painfully pierced his heart. He never suspected all this could change. 

When Draco finally decided to open his eyes he realized he felt surprisingly good. The steel hoop squeezing his ribs since his wife's death eased; Draco took a deep breath and slightly smiled. The feeling of pain was suppressed, easier on him. It wasn't the same harsh sensation that emerged deep in his gut and kept him awake until dawn during the sleepless nights. 

He reluctantly got up - the sun was shining brightly through the curtains and Draco decided to open the window. While looking at the street he recalled how much he loved Mayfair and its wizarding part. Much more than Diagon Alley, with its bourgeois character and stores offering goods of usually lower quality. Draco might change his views on muggle borns but he still was an aristocrat - he had no intention in changing his lifestyle. Although his father paid dearly for his mistakes it was hardly a small percentage of their wealth, they didn't even feel it. With aunt Bellatrix passing away Narcissa inherited her fortune which only increased the suspicions against the Malfoys. It looked like they hadn't been punished in any way; even Potter stating that they retributed their sins wasn't enough to convince people to believe so. It was still being said behind their back that young Draco Malfoy is secretly supporting blood supremacy and seeks a way to regain control in the ministry. He didn't even try to argue this - he knew very well that people would talk no matter what he decided to do. So he learned days and nights to become a healer - he went to Paris and New York for internships, he worked hard in St. Mungo's hospital, he financed the renovations and costly needs of different wards - and still he was treated with mistrust. It was his marriage with Astoria that finally convinced people that Draco had changed. Although descending from a prominent, pure blood family, Astoria's views on blood supremacy were commonly known. Draco's marriage with a woman who openly stated her support for muggle borns definitely changed public opinion's perspective. Draco and Astoria moved into one of the Malfoy's multiple residences in London and together became an important part of the social life in the capital. Everybody loved Astoria - her subtle sense of humour, her wit, and intelligence. She was so beautiful with her auburn hair, snow-white complexion and rosy cheeks. She was a classical beauty; Draco loved everything about her, he couldn't even remember if they ever had a serious argument. And then she died - Draco felt a sense of guilt emerging deep in his gut - yet for the first time in two years there was something beneath - the mere awareness of upcoming joy and happiness. 

He still was confused and surprised with what happened yesterday - he couldn't even fully understand what he had done. Draco was staring through the window and he suddenly realized that he couldn't stop thinking about Hermione. He recalled the warmth of her body, her touch, the taste of her full, carmine lips and once again he felt a desire rising in him. Draco hadn't felt it for a very long time; he barely remembered the feeling of wanting someone, this painful need of making love to a woman. He wanted to feel Hermione's body next to him, he couldn't resist thinking about how she looked without all these clothes. He imagined her round breasts; how he would cup them while kissing the sensitive skin on her neck; how she would moan in his arms begging for more and the mere thought made him hard. 

_"Stop it, you idiot,"_ he thought while heading to the bathroom, _"She probably doesn't even like you."_

When he finally came to the dining room the maid appeared and handed him newspaper and mail. He briefly looked at his correspondence - there was nothing unusual about it; Theodore was inviting him over for a little get together; Blaise came back from Spain recently and wanted to have a whisky; Luna's notes; invitation for a charity gala; medical journal; a card from his parents who were inviting him for dinner tomorrow. Draco sighed - that was the last thing he wanted to do after a date with Granger. His mother would definitely notice that something changed in him and he didn't want to answer any questions yet. Although his parents changed the attitude after the war and reconciled with aunt Andromeda they still believed to some extent in blood supremacy. He understood it very well, as he himself was confused about what he was doing.

"Margaret, please tell Jack to prepare a tuxedo for me," Draco said while pouring himself tea, "I'm going out tonight." 

"Of course, sir," the maid curtsied, "Black bow tie, as usual?"

"No, burgundy, please." Draco cleared his throat and took a croissant from a platter, "Yes? Is something wrong?" 

Margaret was looking at him surprised; she didn't remember when he asked for something in color other than black.

"No, sir, everything's fine," Margaret quickly regained her wit, "Cufflinks?"

"I'll take care of the cufflinks," Draco said, "Please set up a meeting with my tailor and fetch me Morley and McArthur catalogue." 

"Right away, sir."

Margaret smiled as she left the dining room. Whoever this girl was, she was very lucky. 

Although it was Saturday, Draco was busy all day long. He had multiple appointments during the day - he had to meet with Luna in order to talk through their paper about antitoxins, he had office hours for the trainees in the hospital, he had some house calls as well - Draco always took care of not having a lot of spare time. He needed that to distract himself from pain and the feeling of overwhelming void - however today something was different about him. While sitting in his office in St. Mungo's and answering trainees' questions and doubts he thought that maybe it was the time to start working less than for the past two years. He realized that he was running out of time - it was already three pm and he knew he won't be able to finish everything he had planned for today. 

"Oooooh are you leaving already?!" Draco heard a disappointed voice behind his back while locking the door to his office, "Ooh no…,"

"Well yes, I am leaving since I normally finish my office hours at three pm," Draco responded and put the key into his leather bag, "Did something happen?"

"I just wanted you to look at my essay concerning healing potions," pretty, blond trainee smiled at him seductively, "Please, just a few minutes, you never finish at three pm…,"

"Don't do it," Draco said coldly, the girl immediately stopped smiling, "This is inappropriate. Leave your paper in my pigeonhole, I'll look at it on Monday. Have a nice day."

After a few minutes Draco found Ernie MacMillan in the cafeteria and handed him his house calls - just to leave the hospital around three thirty pm to meet Luna at her house. This was probably the only important thing concerning his work today. He managed to read her notes about the antitoxins and the results she achieved were outstanding. Draco knocked and waited for a few moments until Luna let him in. He couldn't tell what it was, but there was something different about her - she looked happy, her eyes glittered and she was smiling even more dreamily than normally. 

"Hello Draco," Luna said and hugged him warmly; he wasn't sure how he felt about this; the protective feeling he developed for her during last year was something he would have never expected. He noticed Luna's scent was different than usual - yes, she smelled of candies and rose water but there was a scent of cologne beneath it. Oddly familiar cologne, with musk and vetiver notes - Draco was sure he knew it. 

"Luna, are you alone?"

"Yes I am, why are you asking?" 

"No reason," Draco shrugged his shoulders, "Let's get to work, I don't have much time today."

Although Luna was perfectly in control Draco knew she wasn't completely sincere. 

_"She is seeing someone,"_ he thought while watching Luna tossed back her hair and added ingredients to the cauldron. Suddenly he realized that she was very pretty with her long, blonde hair and huge, pale blues eyes. Although Luna was not his type, he knew a lot of men who liked the kind of beauty she had, for example Theodore, not to look far away. 

Suddenly Draco thought he wasn't the only one who was hiding something.

*

He came home late; he lost the track of time while working with Luna and had less than an hour to prepare. While buttoning up his white shirt and tying the bow under his neck he realized that it was the first time in two years he was going out with a woman, a woman he hated during his entire life and now there was this thing between them - love? Passion? Sexual drive? All of them? Draco didn't know how to call the feelings he had for Hermione, he was sure of one thing though - definitely it wasn't hate. He looked in the mirror and thought that there was something wrong with his tuxedo. 

_"You probably gained weight,"_ Draco thought while smoothing his jacket, _"Your hair look stupid, do something about it. And don't forget the cufflinks. Where the fuck is it, I remember I put it here...,"_

Draco frantically was digging through all his accessories, he had tons of it: gold and platinum cufflinks, with jewels or without, fancy ones and of simple design, watches, glasses, signets, cross collar tips, tie pins - he couldn't however find what he was looking for. 

_"I remember clearly putting it here...,"_ He thought, and after a second he freezed as he realized that he left his diamond cufflinks with the monogram in Wiltshire.

 _"Ah great,"_ Draco knew he couldn't go to his parents' house now. They would ask questions and he didn't want to answer them yet. " _All right, the ones with rubies will do,"_ He thought as he buttoned the cufflinks and once again glanced at his reflection. _"My hair looks fine,"_ he reassured himself, _"The flowers… SHIT, I forgot the fucking flowers!"_

He looked at his watch - it was nearly seven forty, the stores were already closed and Draco felt like an idiot - it was their first date and he forgot to buy her flowers.

" _Congratulations, you moron_ ," he thought as he was frantically considering his options. " _A perfect gentleman indeed. Mother will kill me but I don't give a fuck."_

Draco took a deep breath and disapparated with a soft pop. A moment later he was in Wiltshire, in his ancestral mansion. He stealthily slipped through the courtyard and went to the orangery. Narcissa was frantic about her plants, gardening became her new hobby after the war. Lucius was spending vast sums for new species from around the globe just to please his wife. Draco knew that his mother spent lots of time in the gardens and orangery, she would notice in a split second that someone had cut the flowers. Servants couldn't do it without a direct order, Lucius definitely would be out of the equation and everything would lead to Draco directly. 

_"I don't care,"_ he thought as he took out his wand from an inside pocket of his jacket, _"All right, let's have a look…,"_

Ten minutes later he was standing with a bouquet of freshly cut tea roses in his hand in front of the doors to Hermione's flat. Draco felt growing nervousness, he hasn't been on a date in years. He resembled his father in many ways. He had his wit and intelligence, similar character, the same type of nonchalant charm, however Draco never has been a womanizer his father used to be as a bachelor. He hasn't dated a lot of women before Astoria. In medical school he was mostly interested in his classes, during internships he was preoccupied by the work in the hospitals - he just didn't have time for women. Draco wasn't _shy_ ; he knew how handsome he was, there were moments he was overly self-confident. He just had other things to do. 

He still stood in front of her apartment, for some reason he was tense and nervous, he wanted to impress her. Draco felt like a schoolboy before his first date, not knowing what to do and say to charm a woman. He took a deep breath and knocked briefly. Hermione opened the door quickly, like she was waiting for him all day long. She looked stunning in a burgundy, tightly fitted dress exposing her figure. Draco tried very hard but he couldn't take his eyes off her. 

"Well, hello Granger," he said and handed her the bouquet, "How are you?"

"I'm fine thank you," she answered and took the flowers from him, "Beautiful roses. We can go in a second…"

Draco looked around her place. It was a two piece apartment, a living room which was also an office and a bedroom. High windows were west oriented, and must have let lots of light in during the day. Good, oak floor, tasteful, white furniture, tons of books and small lamps hanging from shelves - the flat must have been expensive, she either paid a high rent or it was hers. 

"Nice place," Draco said and put hands in his pockets, "You're renting it?" 

"No, it's mine," she replied while putting the flowers into the crystal vase, "My parents bought it. It was supposed to… It was supposed to be my wedding gift." Her voice shivered slightly, "Well, the wedding was called off, but at least I have an apartment now." Hermione forced a wry smile; Draco felt his stomach turn; the death of Ron Weasley was the last thing he wanted to discuss. He knew how she felt; he himself hated to talk about the death of his wife. It didn't help him, it brang only sadness and pain, and this piercing feeling of loneliness in his heart. 

"I'm so sorry, Granger," Draco said while she was looking for something in the dresser, "I didn't want to…,"

"It's fine, Malfoy," she cut in swiftly then stood in front of the mirror and tried to put on a delicate, silver necklace, she however had a problem with buckling it up. Before he even realized what he was doing, Draco came to her and stood behind her back. 

"Allow me, please." He said as he glided his fingers up her velvety arms. It was so intimate; while he looked at their reflections in the mirror the only thing that mattered was that they were together. Hermione was lower than him, Draco realized that he never paid attention to how beautiful the olive shade of her skin was. He had to move her hair in order to buckle up the necklace. Her auburn curls were silky smooth and smelled of vanilla and cardamom; with all his will he fought the urge to kiss her neck. 

"Thank you," Hermione said and blushed, "Ah what again…," she took out her mobile phone from her purse and answered it. "Yes, hello mom… Yes, I'm going out… Yes, he is a _nice man_ … No, mom, I'm fine… Talk to you tomorrow alright? Love you, bye! Sorry, Malfoy, my mother has a habit of calling me when I'm busy…" 

"What's this?" Draco asked, surprised, "It allows you to talk to people from a distance?" 

"Well, yes, it is called a telephone," she replied amused, "Very useful thing; you see, we muggles also have cool stuff." 

"Interesting," He smiled at her, "And you told your mother that I'm a _nice man_?"

"Aren't you a _nice man_?" She looked at him with her large, hazel eyes and Draco felt his knees buckling. "You brought me flowers after all."

"I am a perfect gentleman," he offered her his arm, "Shall we?" 

The philharmonic was a tasteful, elegant building funded in the early 18th century. While entering it with Hermione at his arm, Draco was suddenly struck by the fact he hasn't been here since the death of his wife. She was then, at his arm, in black silk and pearls, a classical, cold beauty, so different to the woman he was with now. He hasn't done a lot of things since the day Astoria died, he barely remembered how it felt to be _content_. 

Draco looked softly at Hermione by his side, her elegant, burgundy taffeta dress beautifully exposed the olive shade of her skin. She was different from his wife; Astoria was calm, steady; she had this peace in her that Draco needed desperately after the war. Hermione was constantly on the move; she was vividly interested with everything that surrounded her. Draco never paid attention to her delicate, regular facial features. He was ignorant before the war; so vain - he felt ashamed of it now. It felt almost surreal how stupid he was just a few years ago.

"We still have forty minutes, Granger," Draco said while looking at the watch on his wrist, "Do you want a glass of wine?" 

"Gladly," she replied, "I'll get us a table." 

A few minutes later Draco was sitting down in front of Hermione, watching carefully as she was tasting her wine. 

"Good chardonnay," she said, "But I had better, I prefer Australian, this is, let me think, from Alsace?"

"That's correct," Draco cleared his throat, "I didn't know you were a wine expert…,"

"I wouldn't call myself an _expert_ ," Hermione giggled, "But my grandma is French and it, well, it just happened; my mother's cousins have a vineyard in Provence…" 

"Your grandma is French?"

_"Ah oui, elle est Française; mon grand-père l'a rencontrée en 1944, pendant la guerre…"*_

"War?" Draco asked; he was intrigued now, "Which war?" 

"Of course, you speak French," she stated, "I could've expected it… Well, there was this war, called World War Two… You _had_ to hear something about it, it also touched the wizarding community, notably in Russia, Poland and Germany…,"

"Ah yes, we had some refugees, mostly Jewish alchemists…," 

"Well, it isn't important now, my grandpa was a captain in British Army, and my grandma was a daughter of a vineyard owner near Calais…"

"This is so odd…,"

"It's perfectly normal, Malfoy," Hermione interrupted him; her voice got this dry tone when she was lecturing everyone, "England and France have a long and complicated history…,"

"No, it's not it," Draco cut in swiftly, "I also have a family in France…"

"I know that."

"...and my mother spent 10 years in Provence, she attended Beauxbatons." 

"I kn… What? Your parents haven't met at Hogwarts?"

"No, they haven't," he smiled at her, "Long story, Granger, maybe I'll tell you someday, but we have to go now, or we'll be late."

"Wait a second," Hermione looked at him carefully, and then she adjusted his bow tie and smoothened his lapel, "There, it's better now." 

Draco felt a sudden twitch of this warm, blissful sensation deep in his heart; he missed these intimate gestures terribly, and now they were once again present in his life. It felt so right, so familiar, that he realized he wanted Hermione to adjust his bow tie until the day he dies. Suddenly he imagined her a few years older, surrounded by several children - their children and this thought delighted him. 

"Why are you looking at me like this?" She asked, "Is something wrong?" 

"Nothing," he cleared his throat and looked away, "Let's go."

They headed towards the stairs when Draco bent down and took up a pair of brightly pink gloves. There was only one woman in the foyer to whom it might belong - a tall blonde wearing a candy pink dress with a deep cut on her back. 

"Excuse me, I think you dropped it… Luna?!" 

Luna Lovegood stared at them with her large, pale blues eyes. She looked odd in an evening dress, wearing cat shaped bracelets on both her wrists - the most surprising fact was that she wasn't alone. Luna was standing by Theodore Nott's side and it made the whole situation even weirder. Nott was one of Draco's closest friends and he never said anything about being involved with any woman. Suddenly Draco recalled the memory of the meeting with Luna from earlier today. This cologne - how could he not recognize it? Draco spent six years with Nott in the same dormitory, they spent holidays together, they got wasted together - Theodore has been using this cologne since forever - there could be no mistake.

They stood in the foyer looking at each other in astonishment not knowing what to say. Draco stared in Nott's green eyes; they were both equally surprised. 

"Luna, Theodore, it's erm, it's good to see you," Hermione cleared her throat, "I love your bracelets, Luna, very _original_ ….,"

"Thank you," Luna smiled brightly, "Come, Hermione, I have so much to tell you…," 

"What are you doing, Theodore?" Draco asked as they followed their partners, "How long is this thing going on?" 

"I could ask you the same question," Nott replied, "Granger?!" 

"Oh shut up," Draco hissed through his teeth, "Besides, you and Luna? How on Earth…,"

"We're together since last April…," 

"A year?!"

"I met her in Africa while I've been doing research for my book and I don't know, it just happened." Theodore smiled, "Luna is… She is just wonderful. I wanted to tell you next week but well, you know now. What about _you_ , Malfoy? What are _you_ doing?"

"I have no idea," Draco replied, looking at Hermione's back, "I don't know." 

"I think you do," Nott smiled at him, "Visit me next week, we have a lot to talk about." 

*

The concert was a _disaste_ r. Draco expected a lot more from the St. Petersburg Wizarding Orchestra. It seemed they hadn't rehearsed the pieces; the bassoonist was of key and the overall impression was awful. He knew his mother paid a fortune for the tickets and for some reason it made him angry. 

"Hannibal Lecter definitely wouldn't be satisfied with this performance" Hermione said and giggled, "The bassoonist wouldn't be safe…,"

"What? Hannibal Lecter?"

"There is this book, the _Silence of the Lambs_ , and the main hero is a very sophisticated cannibal," She replied and smiled, "In one of the movies he _ate_ a bassoonist who was of key…,"

"Movies?"

"Motion pictures," Hermione sighed, "It's like theater, only recorded on tape and played in the cinema. One of the most common Muggle pastimes. God, I absolutely love the movies." 

"Oh, alright," Draco said and thought that she started to introduce him to the culture of her world. Movies, telephones, cinema, _Silence of the Lambs_? There was a lot to unpack here, and much to his surprise he realized that he was looking forward to it. They walked down the street in the moonlight talking about meaningless things; he was watching her laugh, how she tossed back her loosely pinned, auburn hair. She walked lightly and with grace; her movements were subtle and elegant - Draco couldn't understand why he had never noticed it before. He observed how she played with her necklace; she was do close to him now. Hermione still held his arm, he felt the warmth of her body through the clothing and Draco realized he didn't want her to leave; he desperately wanted this night to last forever. 

"Thank you, Malfoy, it was a lovely evening but I should…,"

"Would you like to come in for a drink?" He blurted suddenly, "I live next door." 

She looked at him with round eyes. Draco was sure she would say no, but much to his surprise Hermione blushed and smiled slightly. Something about this smile caught his breath. 

" _Obviously_ , you live in Mayfair," she cleared her throat, "I'll gladly have a drink with you, Malfoy." 

"Perfect, Granger," he replied, "Thank you." 

Draco indeed lived next door. It was his mother's favorite London house, and after constant pestering from her son's side Narcissa allowed him to move there after his wedding. Hermione was never easily impressed. Being a daughter of prominent dentists she came from a wealthy family. She received excellent education not only at Hogwarts but also at home. She spoke French and German, played the piano, and most importantly, she has seen the world. Although her parents worked hard, they never had to worry about the money and Hermione was used to relatively high standards. She was always overly self-confident and slightly arrogant, modesty was never her strength. While passing through the beautifully carved, rosewood door, she fully realized how rich Draco's family was. The house had the splendor of the Blacks, and the luxury of the Malfoys. Crystal chandeliers, marble floors, mahogany panelling, high ceilings, beautiful, art deco furniture made of ebony - and it was just the foyer, as she saw the symmetrical, iron wrought stairs leading to the upper levels of the house. It was _royal_ in every aspect, _aristocratic_ in every inch - while looking at Draco's ancestors glancing at her from the portraits she could understand the pride in being a pure blood. 

Hermione followed Draco through the ground floor, listening to his deep, low voice and she suddenly realized that she didn't care about his past - it didn't matter. The war felt like a distant memory; she didn't want to spend the rest of her life alone, obsessively thinking about Ron, and the future that was taken away from her. It wasn't easy, she still thought about him every day, all the time, from dusk to dawn. She still had his things packed in the carton boxes. His chess set - she kept it in her desk. When she discovered that Ron's scarf lost his scent she cried all night, clutching it and weeping spasmodically. She didn't want to be alone - but she wasn't able to forget about him. She just couldn't. Until when she met Draco Malfoy in the graveyard. Hermione didn't know what she was doing, she didn't know how to tell her friends about what was happening, she didn't even know how she felt - all that she could tell was that his presence was soothing and calming; it eased her pain. When he was near her, she was almost _happy_ , and Hermione thought she would never be happy again. She loved his broad shoulders, his smile, and dimples in his cheeks, she adored his athletic silhouette. _Damn_ , he was so handsome; she didn't want to admit it but she barely could stand this tension between them. Hermione desperately waited for his move; she was too strict to start the game. 

"Whisky, Granger?" Draco asked, "Bourbon? Cognac? Brandy?" 

"Gin and tonic," she replied while looking at the paintings on the living room's walls, "Jesus, is this Dali?!" 

"Indeed," he said and handed her a glass, "My father bought it in Spain years ago… My mother adores him, it was a gift for her." 

"Astounding," Hermione said, "I've never seen these paintings in catalogues…" 

"It is a common practice," Draco smiled at her, "Wizarding painters who decided to sell to muggles create separate works for them." 

A bright fire lit in her eyes when she was closely watching the paintings on the walls. Her cheeks blushed as she laughed and asked him detailed questions concerning the history of each piece. Draco didn't know when he had his arm wrapped around her waist, she was so close to him; unbearably close. The heat of her skin was so pleasant, so tempting; her scent of vanilla and cardamom was driving him mad. He pressed her tightly against him; _damn_ , he wanted to kiss her so badly now, he wanted her so badly. Hermione smiled while stroking his cheek. 

"Do you want to see _View of Auvers-sur-Oise_?" He whispered in her ear and softly kissed her neck; Hermione sighed with pleasure. 

"Missing Cezanne?" Hermione asked and touched his hard length through his clothing while looking in his steel-gray eyes. There was burning desire in them. Her touch was ecstatic, Draco barely controlled himself. 

"Yes," his voice was low and husky with need, "It's in my bedroom." 

"I desperately _want_ to see it," Hermione smiled and Draco felt his knees buckling. 

She followed him upstairs feeling the growing excitement. He opened the door for her and they both entered the chamber. And there it was - _View of Auvers-sur-Oise_ \- hanging straight in front of her, over the fireplace. The painting was beautiful, eerily soothing, Hermione was breathless for a moment. 

"This is astounding…," she cut as Draco came to her and unbuttoned her dress while embracing her from behind. Hermione felt his hot lips on her neck, kissing the sensitive skin; sucking on her earlobe. Draco's hands gilded slowly up her chest driving her mad. Hermione felt this unbearable tension in her abdomen, between her thighs - her body desperately needed his touch. He cupped her breasts and felt a hardening nipples under his palms. Draco rubbed them gently and Hermione moaned while turning to him. 

"I want you," she whispered while unbuttoning his shirt, "I want…,"

Hermione cut as she felt his lips on her breasts; she gasped with pleasure when he brushed her nipple with a tip of his tongue; his black jacket fell down the floor. Her hands caressed his chest; slowly went lower, teasing him, caressing the sensitive skin above his belt. Draco sighed with pleasure when she touched his hard length through his clothing; it felt so good, her hands were warm and soft; he desperately wanted to be inside her, to feel her - but when she squeezed the silver buckle of his belt Draco held her hand.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked. 

"I haven't been with a woman in two years," he replied, suddenly embarrassed. 

"It's alright," she whispered, and kissed him softly, "Lie down, Draco."

He obeyed: Hermione unfastened his belt and trousers and took him in her mouth, loving the heat and the hardness. She licked the sensitive head of his cock, her lips firmly enclosed on it while she teased his hard length with her tongue. 

"Yes," Draco whispered as Hermione took him deeper; he loved the gentle touch of her lips on his cock, the only thing that mattered was her hot, wet mouth gliding up and down his hard lenght, "Fuck yeah…," 

The pleasure was almost unbearable; he wasn't sure how long he would last, he could feel the upcoming orgasm. Hermione's lips put him nearly on the verge but he didn't want to come yet; he wanted to please her. Draco was painfully tense when he took her hand and gently pulled Hermione up. He cupped her breasts and played with her nipples stiff with excitement while kissing her to muffle her scream. Hermione moaned loudly as she felt his hand caressing her clit. Draco was touching her faster with each second; soon she was nearly dripping for him; he knew she was ready. Hermione slowly slid over his cock; they were both breathing heavily, unable to break eye-contact. Draco was looking into her eyes burning with desire, the expression of ecstasy on her face made him even more excited than ever. His hands went to her hips; helped her to find a common rhythm. Hermione's eyelids fluttered as she rode him; slowly at first, gently, faster and harder with each second; she gasped with pleasure as Draco brushed her clit with a tip of his finger. They couldn't hold it any longer - the climax fell down on them like a bolt of lightning. It felt so good, they almost couldn't stand the pleasure - finally the tension eased and there was only peace and calm as they lay cuddled to one another. Draco kissed her temple while slowly running his fingers up and down her silky-smooth back; Hermione sighed while resting her head on his chest. None of them spoke, they didn't know what to say. They felt oddly calm, relaxed, it was something they haven't experienced in years. Draco wanted to say something; he wanted to reassure her about… About what? He still couldn't admit his feelings towards her. 

"I should probably go," Hermione said after some time and kissed his jaw, "Let's not pretend it is going to last forever." 

"Stay," he said, "Please."

"Why, Draco?" She asked and looked him straight in the eye, leaning on her elbow, "Why? I just can't go through all this again…"

He was looking in her large, hazel-brown eyes and suddenly he understood everything. 

"I'm in love with you." Draco said and took her hand, "Stay."

"What did you say?" 

"I fell in love with you," he repeated. "I think about you, I can't think about anything else apart from you, I just…"

Hermione interrupted him with a kiss and Draco already knew what she wanted to tell him. She kissed him passionately, her hand on his cheek, her body pressed tightly against his. He embraced her as they both started to lose themselves in the sweet, comforting pleasure. Hermione gently bit his lower lip and a loud sound reverberated from the depth of Draco's throat. 

"Your parents would never approve it," she whispered, her lips pressed against his, "They…,"

"I'll handle my parents," Draco ran his fingers up and down her spine; her skin was warm and soft; silky-smooth, "Be with me, please. I need you." 

"I'll stay, Draco," She replied and lay her head on his chest, "I'm in love with you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ah yes, she is French, my grandfather met her in 1944, during the war


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione make mistakes.

Hermione was frantically searching for her ivory blouse through Draco’s bedroom. She was already late for work; she had a briefing with Harry at ten, and she desperately needed it to be perfect. They were meeting with French and Germans in order to discuss the recent project of organizing the first international aurror’s office. It was her idea, she and her legal team spent countless hours poring over codes and adjusting the contracts; they cooperated with lawyers from Paris and Berlin. Today it was finally the concluding meeting, everything was about to be set in motion. Wearing a tightly fitted, black pencil skirt and white brassiere Hermione was digging through her closet's content, but the blouse was nowhere to be found and she panicked. 

"Draco? DRACO?!" she cried while frantically searching through her clothes, "HAVE YOU SEEN MY BLOUSE?" 

"Which one?" He asked while buttoning up his shirt. 

"The one I prepared for today!" 

"It's right here, look."

The blouse was hanging on the closet's doors, now Hermione clearly remembered putting it there. It was so embarrassing, she felt like an idiot, hardly holding back tears. She looked away and started to dress up. Hermione was on the verge of the breakdown; she had been under lots of stress lately and the smallest things rattled her. 

"The regulations from 1971… No, goddammit, it was 1972! I will fuck it all up…, International law allowes us to fruitfully cooperate…," Her voice was quivering, "SHIT, I'LL BE LATE, I CAN'T BE LATE TODAY! They'll fire me, I'm sure of it, I will fuck this project up…," 

Draco came over to her and embraced Hermione from behind, tightly pressing her against him. She was stiff and tense, he felt her stress and nervousness. Hermione was overly critical towards herself, which, when combined with her perfectionism, resulted in panic and pessimistic attitude towards everything she did. Draco knew how much this project mattered; it would open the door for big politics for her, something she dreamt of since she started to work in the ministry. Draco saw the tears in her eyes and he couldn't stand the fact that she suffered, he wanted to console her, to make her feel better. 

"Let go of me, Malfoy, I will be late!" Hermione said but Draco wasn't going to let go. He softly kissed her neck; his hair was still damp from the shower. She felt his hands on her shoulders, massaging her muscles tense with stress. Draco's palms were pleasantly warm, his touch was so soothing; she closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure. 

"Draco please, I cannot be late…," 

"You won't be late, Granger," he whispered in her ear, "It's nine zero three… Well, nine zero four. You have the briefing with Potter at ten, there is plenty of time. Just relax, breathe - that's it…," 

"What if…,"

"Hey, hey, hey, look at me," Draco said and Hermione slowly turned to him leaning her hands on his chest, "You will do _brilliantly_ , darling. You hear me? Brilliantly." 

She looked into his steel-gray eyes and suddenly felt that everything would work out. His touch, his scent - cool, fresh, spicy scent of pepper and mint was the best remedy. His low, silken voice made her believe she could achieve what she wanted. Nobody could ever comfort her like this. 

"Thank you, Draco. I'm just so tired, distracted… And this stupid blouse…," 

"You should move in finally," he replied and kissed her forehead, "Everything will be fine, you'll kick their asses." 

"Have you told your parents yet?" Hermione stroked his cheek and adjusted his collar, "How can I move in if they don't know…,"

Draco felt his stomach turn. Six months ago he promised her that he would handle Lucius and Narcissa but in fact he was terrified of their reaction. Draco saw them playing with little Teddy Lupin and inviting aunt Andromeda every weekend but this was different - she was _family_. Andromeda was a pure blood witch after all, his mother’s sister, Black’s flesh and blood.

Hermione was intelligent, well educated, she had sublime taste and this flawless, natural type of class that some aristocrats lacked. She possessed all traits that his parents praised - she was muggleborn nonetheless. 

"And you? Have you told someone yet?" He cleared his throat, observing how Hermione put on her burgundy lipstick. "Only Luna and Theodore know, besides this is _my_ house, I legally own it…"

"Luna and Theodore know, because they are hiding as well." Hermione stated and put a thick pile of files to her satchel, "I haven't told anyone, not yet." 

Hermione didn’t know what to tell her friends, Harry and Ginny; Molly and Arthur Weasley who treated her like a daughter. She was afraid of their reaction to the fact that she was literally sleeping with the enemy. She still didn’t tell her parents as she knew that they would have never kept a secret. 

"I will tell them this week," Draco sighed, "Dinner at nine? I was thinking maybe bistecca alla fiorentina…," 

"Paired with malbec," She cut in swiftly, "How do I look?"

Draco glanced at her, wearing a perfectly tailored black costume, ivory blouse and cognac high heels. She had a simple string of pearls on her neck, beautifully exposed by highly pinned hair. He loved this classical look, elegant and tasteful. 

"You look stunning, Granger," Draco said and pulled her closer to him, "Go get them." 

Hermione giggled and kissed him goodbye, only to disappear in the emerald flames a moment later. 

As she entered the ministry she felt growing nervousness. It was probably the most important day during her career, everything depended on the outcome of this meeting. It's been five years since Voldemort's fall and still some Deatheaters were walking free, abroad. There were no regulations concerning auror's international cooperation and Hermione found that outrageous. _It would definitely facilitate the work of our department, she argued_ , and Kingsley Schacklebolt knew she was right. The bill that was already unofficially called the Potter-Granger Act could be something that would revolutionize the international wizarding law.

"Hello Harry," she said after entering the conference room, "I brought you some coffee…, Flat white, your favourite." 

"You're a god send, Hermione, thank you," Harry replied and took a paper cup from her, "Here, I was checking these files, everything looks fine… By the way, where were you yesterday?"

"What? I was at home, where was I supposed to be?" 

"Well, you weren't, Ginny came by and…,"

Hermione froze for a second - why did she say that? For the first time she referred to Draco's house as her home, something that never happened before. 

"I mean I was, erm…, I was at my parents' place," Hermione lied and looked away, "My mother wanted me to visit them." 

Harry was looking at her suspiciously and she knew he didn't believe her. Hermione started to frantically wonder if there is a trace of Draco's cologne on her. 

"Hermione, are you seeing someone?" Harry asked, "It's alright, you can tell me, Ron would have wanted you to be happy again…," 

"I'm not seeing _anyone_ ," she cleared her throat, "Let's get to work, shall we?" 

She knew Harry didn't believe her; he was looking at her in this bizarre, piercing way and she had difficulties in focusing on what she was doing. It was February 15th, it’s been almost six months since Hermione had stayed with Draco that night in September. She then stayed the next day and the day after. They woke up next to each other, had breakfast together. Sometimes Draco was staying at her place; he even left a few shirts, underwear, and a toothbrush there. _“It is so close to the hospital, Malfoy, you can sleep longer.”_ Hermione usually said when he was leaving in the evenings, and Draco just couldn’t refuse her. He got used to her flat, he liked to come home from the graveyard shift and cuddle to her back while she was still sleeping. She was so warm and soft; he nestled his face in her auburn curls and kissed her neck before falling asleep. Hermione made him sandwiches to work, she asked him to do the groceries - it was a quiet life, devoid of societal grandeur. Draco had never experienced something like this, but it made him calm and relaxed. He liked to spend long hours on reading together. She was checking penal codes and files; he corrected trainees' essays, made notes on the margins of his old papers. They lay on the couch; Hermione's head on his thigs; Draco stroked her silky hair while turning pages. When she went to bed early, she could still see the flickering light in the office and she fell asleep calm, knowing he was near her. Draco eventually watched _The Silence of the Lambs_ \- cinema became one of his favorite pastimes from now on. 

They stayed in his house in Mayfair. Hermione adored getting up late on the weekends, having breakfast in bed. She loved the marble bathrooms and Draco’s library, where she spent countless hours while he was working in the hospital. During the long, winter evenings she just sat on the couch in front of the fireplace with a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and a book in the other and waited for him to finally come back home. Half of Hermione's closet was in Draco's house now, some of her books, cosmetics. She didn't have to do anything and it was odd to her, but in time she got used to the domestic service. Obviously Hermione conducted a little investigation concerning their employment conditions - and was surprised by its outcome. Draco was treating them very well. 

They spent their first Christmas together; peaceful and quiet. Hermione left her parents’ house early, Draco told at home he had to work on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day. It was just them and Frank Sinatra playing in the background while they made love in front of the fireplace. 

Hermione knew Harry didn't believe her, but she didn't care at the moment. It wasn't the time for conversations like this. When French and Germans arrived and sat down at a large, round table, Hermione took her files and noticed a small note pinned to the first page. She opened it and saw the familiar, neat handwriting:

_"You will do BRILLIANTLY, darling." _

She felt the pressure and stress just disappeared; there was only her professionalism, self-confidence, and wit. 

_"Thank you, Draco_ ," she thought and smiled widely. "Ladies and gentlemen…," 

The meeting started and Hermione just knew that everything would go smoothly.

*

Lucius and Narcissa were having tea in the living room. They haven't noticed Draco's arrival, preoccupied with the conversation. Since Draco took their social engagements, his parents were on their second honeymoon. They were travelling, inviting their friends over to Wiltshire, doing the horse riding, visiting relatives in France - they were finally at peace. Last eight years weren't easy on them - Draco remembered very well the moment on King's Cross station in 1996, when his mother wearing all black informed him that his father was imprisoned. 

_"Life sentence in Azkaban,"_ Draco recalled her deadly calm voice and shivered against his will. He remembered the moment when Lucius came back home after a year of prison - looking like a shadow of a man he used to be. They cut his hair; he had an evidence number tattooed on his neck; there was nothing left from his athletic body, he was just a sack of skin and bones. Having the Dark Lord in Malfoy Manor was a horror; Draco didn't know how his parents managed to endure all this. He was still wondering how his father survived the tortures, how his mother survived looking at her husband's tremendous suffering. The trial then; it was one of the most humiliating events his parents ever experienced - and yet here they were - recovered and _still_ in love with each other. Lucius looked like Azkaban had never happened; Narcissa was beautiful as always, and for the first time since Astoria's death Draco didn't envy them. 

"Good afternoon mother," he cleared his throat and kissed his mother on her cheek, "Father…," 

Lucius hugged him warmly and Draco felt his scent; the same scent of musk and cedar wood he remembered since early childhood. He realized that it was his father who was getting up to him late at night and convinced him that a storm was nothing to be afraid of. It was his father who taught him how to ride a horse, how to play polo and quidditch. Draco inherited his musical talent; because of his father he loved the piano so much. It was Lucius who _demanded_ the best notes at school, who _expected_ the highest standards. His mother was always easy on him, she gave him comfort and relief, Draco inherited her healing talent, but it was his father who shaped his character and tastes. Draco had never thought about it, now, however, it seemed crystal clear to him.

"Ah, Draco, it's so good to see you," Narcissa smiled brightly, "How are you?" 

"Oh, great, and you?" He sat at the table and poured himself some tea, "How is your arm, father? Have you been using this ointment that I prescribed"? 

"It's better, thank you," Lucius replied, "Your mother _made sure_ that I used it twice a day." 

"Good, I'll look at it later," Draco glanced at his parents, "What are your plans for the rest of the winter?" 

"We will probably spent some time in Switzerland," Narcissa said carelessly, "I miss Zurich so much…," 

"Yes, and then maybe Monaco," Lucius smiled at her, "By the way, Draco, where were you on Saturday?" 

"Hm? Saturday?" He instantly froze, "Why do you ask?" 

"Well, we came by in the evening, after we left the opera house, but Margaret said you were not at home." Narcissa looked at him suspiciously, "Where were you?" 

"Probably I was working graveyard," Draco cleared his throat and looked away. He remembered very well what he was doing on Saturday evening. The servants were specifically instructed to dismiss anyone who would come by. Ten minutes later he was unlacing Hermione's black corset in his office. Draco recalled the weak memory of hearing the doorbell when she wrapped her legs on his back. "Yes, I was working graveyard on Saturday." He repeated, but he knew that his parents didn't believe him.

"You were working graveyard," his father stated and looked him straight in the eye. 

_"Ah fuck,"_ Draco thought. Lucius knew perfectly well that his son was lying. 

They spent the next few hours on a pleasant conversation about meaningless things; his parents still looked at him suspiciously and Draco could barely stand it. He wanted to tell them, he just didn't know how. When he finally left his ancestral estate, Mr and Mrs Malfoy smiled at each other. 

"He's seeing someone," Narcissa said, "I'm wondering, who is it?" 

"He'll tell us for sure," Lucius embraced her, "Let's not pressure him." 

"Well, you're right," she sighed, "He's just like you."

*

Hermione came home at eight; she was exhausted but happy. The concluding meeting was a success; they officially started the real work now. The French and the Germans were more than satisfied and Shacklebolt promised to increase the funds for their project. She took off her high heels, put her satchel on the table and went to Draco's office. Hermione knew that the last few months he had been working hard on his paper he was co-authoring with Luna, spent long hours on doing the research. While going upstairs she realized how supportive he was. She knew that her character wasn't easy; she was constantly panicking, talking how she would fuck everything up; during the worst moments she just cried from stress and fatigue. Draco was always here for her; he consoled her with his deep, low voice, held her in his arms - his presence alone was comforting for her. She loved him so much, she needed him; Hermione couldn't imagine her life without Draco now. It was their relationship that made her understand how lonely and vulnerable she was after Ron's death. 

Hermione loved their common mornings, getting ready for work together; she loved having meals with him, chilling in the garden - no matter what they did together, it was always pleasant. She cherished falling asleep and waking up next to him, watching him works, she loved his smile and the dimples in his cheeks. Hermione couldn't get over how handsome he was; how much she wanted him. 

She stood in the threshold of his office; Draco didn't notice her, preoccupied with writing notes on margins. His sleeves were rolled up, shirt unbuttoned at his neck and he put his black tie on his desk. She slowly came to him and put her hands on his shoulders; Draco was stiff and tense; Hermione immediately knew he spent long hours by his desk. 

"Good evening, Malfoy," she said and kissed his neck, her hands glided down his chest, "How was your day?" 

He got up quickly, Hermione threw her hands on his neck and Draco lifted her, pressing her tightly against him. He was wearing his reading glasses - round, with a black wire binding. Hermione remembered how surprised she was when she first saw him wearing them. 

"I had better," He said and kissed her forehead, "My parents are _unbearable_ , this paper isn't easy too… And you? How are you? How was your meeting?"

"It was perfect," she said and smiled, "Everything went well, I am absolutely exhausted…, Thank you for the note." 

"Which note?" He smiled back at her, "Congratulations, Granger, I knew you could do it. Hungry?" 

"God yes, I'm starving." 

The dinner, as always, was exquisite. Hermione absolutely adored the food, she appreciated the wine; above all she however praised the fact that she and Draco were together. They didn't have much time for each other lately; they were busy. Draco was near the exam session; trainees demanded his attention, he was writing his paper; working night shifts often just to be able to meet all the deadlines. Hermione worked on her project, looking for loopholes, meeting Harry to discuss the doubts - and in all this they both cared about spending as much time together as possible. 

She sighed and rested her head on the table - Draco went to the wine cellar for another bottle; Hermione asked him to choose something interesting. She was so tired. 

_"I will just close my eyes for a second…,"_ she thought, and soon she was sleeping. 

"I've got it, Granger, the last bottle…," Draco said while entering the dining room. "Oh, of course." 

He put the wine on the table and effortlessly lifted Hermione up. Her head fell on his chest when he went upstairs to the bedroom. She was so light, she seemed fragile to him - yet her inner strength always astonished him. He hurt her many times and yet here she was, by his side and in love with him. Looking at her Draco thought that their meeting in September was a hand of fate. He gently lay her on the bed and kissed her forehead. 

_"Sleep, darling,"_ he thought as he headed to his office, _"You deserved it."_

*

Hermione woke up late; it was nearly nine when she got up and looked around the bedroom. Draco was standing in front of the mirror and choosing the tie for today, wearing a white shirt and his favourite, silk, black vest. 

"Good morning, Granger," he said and glanced at her, "You fell asleep on the table yesterday, I think you should take a day off, you're exhausted…," 

"I cannot today," she replied and cuddled to his back, "We will spend the weekend together, I promise." 

"All right," Draco said and turned to her, "Would you like to go to Paris?" 

"I'd love to," she replied and took a black set off lace underwear from the drawer, "But it's already Thursday, we won't be able to book in such short notice…," 

"We don't have to book anything," he pulled her closer to him, "I'm a _Malfoy_ , remember? I have an apartment in Paris, in Passy." 

"How could I forget," she smiled at him, "Very well then, _Mr Malfoy_ , I will spend the weekend in Paris with pleasure." 

"Good," Draco said and kissed her neck, "By the way, I absolutely _adore_ this attire, Granger…," 

He kissed her passionately as his hands went to the tiny buttons on her back. Hermione threw her arms on his neck and stopped thinking about work for a second; they missed each other; they wanted each other so badly. She unbuttoned his fresh, white shirt and kissed his neck while unfastening the silver buckle of his belt. 

"Do you want to be fucked before work, Granger?" Draco gasped when he lifted her up and placed her on the dresser, " _Damn,_ you're beautiful…," 

Hermione moaned when he cupped her breasts; he caressed her roughly, they didn't have much time. In a few minutes her underwear was on the floor; Draco loved how fast she was getting wet for him. 

"Do you want it?" His eyes were liquid black when he pushed deep into her body with one, firm stroke. They both gasped with pleasure when his movements became harder. 

"Yes," she wrapped her legs tightly on his back, her lips pressed against his, feeling the upcoming orgasm. They haven't been with each other for quite some time; the pleasure was so intense, overwhelming, they felt it right under the skin, in every inch of their bodies. Twenty minutes was enough, the climax was fast and rough, paralyzing with almost an electric feeling - they both needed it desperately. Hermione rested her head on his shoulder breathing heavily; Draco kissed her collarbone; he still was embracing her tightly, moving gently inside her body. 

"What time is it?" Hermione cleared her throat and sighed as he slid from her and fastened his trousers. "Is it terribly late?" 

"Nine forty," Draco said and smiled, "Wow, it's the first time you will be _indeed_ late for work," 

"It was worth it," she replied and kissed him, "And don't forget about the attire I'm going to wear today." 

Draco was looking at her back while she headed to the bathroom and he thought that he was a very lucky man. 

*

Hermione came to the ministry an hour later in an excellent mood. She knew that she was late, that she was about to have a very tough day but she didn't care. She was content, her international project was getting into clear shape, they were properly funded, the team grew - everything was perfect. She couldn't focus, her eyes glittered with pure happiness. 

"Good morning, Harry," she said, "How are you?" 

Hermione smiled at him, but Harry didn't smile back and she felt that something was wrong. 

"What is it? Did something happen?"

"Hermione, please, sit down," He cleared his throat, "I don't like it either but…," 

"Harry, for fuck's sake, what's going on?"

"We have to work with James Fitzhubert." Harry wasn't looking at her, Hermione instantly felt sick. "The note from Shacklebolt came earlier." 

Hermione sat down heavily on the chair and felt she couldn't breathe. All the memories from Ron's murder trial came back to her, hitting her with a strength of the sledgehammer. 

_"Thorfin Rowle is a bad man. We all know it. He was a fanatic Deatheater, he killed and tortured a lot of people, he raped women - all this is true," James Fitzhubert said, "But he hasn't killed Ronald Weasley. It was an accident, Mr Weasley was killed by a ricochet. Caused by Rowle, true. But it was an accident. My client had changed, he was working as a volunteer in multiple charitable organizations…,"_

Hermione was sitting there and listening to his closing speech; she could barely stand it. Since Ron's death she was on xanax; couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't normally function. She was staying in bed for days, she lost twenty five pounds. Sitting there, listening to this bullshit she felt pure rage and hate. She hated Fitzhubert, she hated the ironic smile of his client. She knew that it was a carefully planned scam. Rowle might be a volunteer; it hasn't changed a thing. He had no remorse; Hermione was sure of it. 

When she heard the sentence - twenty years in Azkaban - she fell down on the floor. The prosecution wanted a life sentence, and it was considered to be a spectacular failure of the judicial system. Nobody cared, however. Although Ron was a war hero, people were tired of constant trials. It's been two years since Voldemort's fall and everyone just wanted to live their normal lives. Hermione didn't know how she survived the next few weeks. 

"Hermione? Are you alright?" She heard Harry's voice from the distance, "Hermione?!" 

"Yes, I am alright," she cleared her throat and took a cup of water from him, "Thank you. Well, let's go then, we have work to do." 

Harry was looking at her suspiciously, Hermione very well pretended that nothing had happened. When they entered the conference room, Fitzhubert was already waiting for them with the rest of the team. He immediately stood up and came over to Harry and Hermione when he just saw them. 

"Good morning, miss Granger," he said and smiled widely, "You look much better than I last saw you…," 

"I am your direct superior," she drawled icily, and Fitzhubert immediately froze, "Next time keep these remarks for yourself." 

"Of course," he muttered, "I hope the _personal_ animosities won't influence our cooperation." 

Fitzherbert held out his hand, but Hermione didn't shake it. She just passed him by and took her usual place. 

"Ladies and gentleman," she started with a wide smile. Hermione was a good actress; she barely held tears. 

*

When she came home in the evening she was just furious. The cold rage she felt entirely filled her in. Hermione was wondering how it happened, who delegated this son of a bitch for this position. Who recommended him. At the mere thought of being forced to work with Fitzhubert for the next few months she felt sick. She headed to the living room and poured herself a brandy. 

"Good evening, Granger," Draco said, she didn't notice him sitting in the armchair. "Rough day?"

"You can't even imagine," she drawled, "They forced me to work with Fitzhubert…, Malfoy please, I'm not on the mood," 

"Well, what's wrong with him?" Draco put his hands in his pockets, "I heard he is an excellent lawyer…," 

"That's not it," she snapped. 

"Then what, why are you so upset?" Draco looked at her surprised, "What's wrong?"

"Because of him Rowle didn't get a life sentence in Azkaban," Hermione growled, "Fitzhubert defended him."

"Well, and?" Draco asked, "Twenty years in Azkaban is a severe punishment...,"

"Rowle killed Ron," she said and looked him straight in the eye, Draco immediately felt sick, "And Fitzhubert argued that it wasn't a murder, because Ron was hit by a ricochet."

"Well, technically he was right..."

"I should have expected it," Hermione gasped, "Maybe it was his fault that he was killed, hm? Just like Fred's, Lupin's, Tonks's, Moody's, and my other friends who were killed, yes, murdered by your fellow nazi colleagues!"

Draco didn't know what nazi meant, but he knew it wasn't anything good. He fucked it up; he should have restrained himself. 

"You're not being fair, I haven't said that!" He exclaimed, "I also lost friends and family; my father spend a year in Azkaban...,"

"Oh yeah, who did you lose? Bellatrix Lestragne, who almost tortured me to death?!"

"She was my mother's sister, they were best friends! You have no idea how Bella's death affected her!" Draco was furious; he knew that his aunt's actions couldn't have been justified, but he remembered very well how Narcissa suffered after her death, "Severus Snape was my godfather, how do you think I felt when I found out that he was dead?! Rabastan and Roddy were the closest friends of my father, do you imagine we just ignored the fact that they had died?!"

"Oh great, so now we are bidding against each other, is that so? Who suffered most?!" 

"You started this, Granger," Draco's voice was steel-cold, "You behave like I haven't been through the same shit as you had!"

"Well, have you?" She snorted, "Have you been tortured, have you been forced to hide across the country in a tent during the winter and starved?! Have you erased your parents' memory and sent them to Australia because you were afraid for their lives?! Did someone kill your wife? You know jack shit, Malfoy!"

"Oh I know jack shit?!" Draco growled, "Well, at least you managed to _hide_ your parents; I've seen how Voldemort tortured my father and forced my mother to watch! You want to know how my wife died?! She died because of me, I shouldn't have agreed for a child, that's why! She was in her third month when she passed away! I was kneeling beside her bed and saw the fading life in her eyes!" His voice shivered slightly, "Her family was cursed five generations ago, and I knew about it! I just couldn't refuse her!"

"Congratulations, Draco," she snapped "Very responsible behavior…," 

"Well, now _I_ should have expected it, this is the empathy I could expect from a mu..."

He cut, and immediately he knew he went too far. Suddenly Draco remembered that he had already said that once, nine years ago, and judging by the expression on her face she remembered it as well. 

"Yes?" She widened her eyes, "Finish your sentence, go ahead!"

"I didn't mean it," Draco felt sick, he knew that what had happened a moment ago could not been undone, he could have lost her, "Hermione, please, I didn't mean it! I'm sorry!"

"I've heard enough," she said, her voice quivered, "I'm leaving."

"Where are you going?! GRANGER?!" 

Draco followed her outside but the street was completely empty. He was standing there for a brief moment, feeling growing despair. How could he do this? How could he be so stupid? He didn't care about her blood status, she was everything to him. He loved her more than anything, how could he? 

Now it was all gone. 

With all his will he forced himself to hold back tears, and after a while he went back home. He took a bottle of cognac from the table and looked at his reflection in a mirror. He hated himself. 

" _Congratulations, Draco,_ " he thought as he took a sip. " _Congratulations on fucking your life up once again."_


End file.
